The Boy Who Never Lived
by savannahreads
Summary: Harry Potter was never born and Voldemort dragged the whole world to hell. Now, in the wake of massive political upheaval, Hermione Granger comes of age as a Mudblood in a Pureblooded society. When she is sold to a wealthy Pureblood family and makes friends with the charming Draco, she learns that not everything is as black and white as they said. DM/HG [warning-moral ambiguity] :/


**[Please keep reading until the end, even if it starts out a little funky- the writing in this chapter spans almost a year. My style developed a bit toward the middle.]**

Chapter 1

I was dreading my fifteenth birthday.

If I were any normal girl, I would have been happy. Excited, feverish with joy that my birthday had come around yet again!

Some Muggle girls even celebrate their fifteenths lavishly, like a wedding without the groom. A birthday of honor, a stepping-stone to adulthood. It's supposed to be her happiest day.

But I'm not any normal girl. I am a witch, and a Mudblood.

My fifteenth birthday meant a lot of things, but none of the aforementioned. I knew that when that day came, it would change my life forever, in the worst possible ways.

And it was only tomorrow.

I tried to go about as I normally did, collecting whatever scrap of mail I'd been 'lucky' enough to receive, detailing plainly the deaths of the latest 'Mudblood scum' and 'filthy blood traitors.' It was revolting, but I always gathered it anyway, to keep up appearances.

I'd been living on my own for five years, but that didn't mean I had less to shop for. I only went out if it was to shop, and I only shopped when I'd saved enough ration tickets. And right now, enough seemed more like _anything at all._

All I usually bought was food and soap, and almost always a whole helluva lot of it, when I could get my hands on it. But as I hobbled into the Muggle grocery store, careful to hide my face and wild brown hair and shuffle like an old woman for cover, I knew I wouldn't need much. Of anything. Just enough to get me through the night.

So, I splurged. We weren't allowed to buy at Muggle groceries for just that purpose- we were free there. We _could_ splurge. We could buy ice cream and crisps and Coca-Cola and no one would think twice. Which is exactly what I did, returning home through the empty streets of my grey, destitute neighborhood, treasure in hand.

I didn't have a Muggle television. I never could afford it, and neither could my parents when they'd been alive, but I could always somehow shuffle some numbers around and scrape up enough for a new book. Maybe sometimes I would have preferred someone else's imagination thrust at me for entertainment as I laughed at the screen, but all I had was my own, and a very well cultivated one at that, and I was happy.

So, I sat on my blanket in the middle of the one room I had, and read and crunched crisps and drank Coke and slurped ice cream until my candle burned out and the cows came home. Then I said goodnight to my cage of a house, my books, and most of all, to my, not complete, but nevertheless there, freedom.

It felt like I'd only been asleep for a moment when they came.

…

I'd known they would come and I was ready for them. When they banged on my door with forced, unnecessary couth, I gathered my blanket, slipped on my worn, holey shoes, and strode to the door, head high.

I opened the door to two masked wizards, a scowling mouth placed beneath their shining silver disguises. Death Eaters. The elite. What all young people should strive for.

They were doing what they did best: dealing with those of inferior birth. The day was bright, the sun contrasting their dark appearance.

"Come along," one said gruffly, before grabbing at my elbow to pull me along. I was used to their rough nature. I'd lived around them my entire life. I never knew anything different; they were always there, watching us, waiting for us to toe out of line, their harsh, martinet eyes glittering with hate. Hate that was now directed at me.

For once, I found strength under the pressure of those eyes, and I pulled away.

"Am I to be sold?" I asked, trying to keep the quiver in my legs from entering my voice.

"Yes," was the short angry reply from the short, angry Death Eater to my left.

"Where?" I demanded, my chin lifting in fabricated confidence. That's the one thing my mother taught me, if she ever taught me anything. "You never let them see just how frightened they make you, Hermione. Even on your deathbed, don't give in. It's the only thing you have."

Well, I was far from death (I hoped), and I had been steely and unaffected half my life, so it wasn't much of a challenge to demonstrate for them exactly what my mother had meant. Even though they worked for the one man in the world I feared above all others.

My answer was a shove from one Death Eater and a shove from the other, until I stood between them, each of them clutching tightly to my threadbare robes, and turning just slightly, until

I stood at the maw of an enormous building, about thirty stories high, and twice that many wide. That was the first thing I noticed- the sheer size of the place- the second was the darkness.

And I knew.

They say (we Mudbloods and Half-Bloods do gossip) that Knockturn Alley is where most of us go to be sold. It is a favorite vacation spot for many traveling witches and wizards, so it warrants great exposure to potential patrons. Château D'if is by far the worst, they said. It's off the Italian coast, amid perpetually storming waters. It is where the criminal and sickly of us go.

But the last option, the place I was pretty sure I was standing dead in front of, couldn't have been anything less than Malfoy Manor, herself.

If sale location was any indication of worth, I was feeling pretty expensive right about then.

Until one of my little buddies jabbed his pal in the side with his wand and hissed, "Are you sure we should have brought her _here?_"

An exasperated gasp. I turned from staring at the expansive place to watch the Death Eaters discuss my fate.

The short one told the taller one in clipped, impatient daggers of words, "She meets all of the requirements, Bade. Taller than average, at least mildly attractive, slender, and of age. Of course she goes here. She's what they pay us to find, idiot."

After a moment of contemplation, the one who had asked glanced sharply up at me as I watched.

"Well? Aren't you going to _walk_? Why are we just standing here, Mudblood?" And with a forceful jab to my ribs, I began the brisk walk to the Manor. It didn't take long, and then we were standing at the huge, dragon shaped front doors. The short one knocked, then both of the Death Eaters moved in front of me as if to shield their master's eyes from seeing my hideous self.

No one answered for a while, until the doors swung open of their own accord, inviting us inside the cool, dark mansion.

The inside of the Manor was no less intimidating, furnished with authentic dragon heads that would make my friend Charlie faint, and the whole place sparkled dimly from the faceted glass furniture in the sitting room. It made me want to retch and gasp in wonder simultaneously which I couldn't possibly do without swallowing vomit.

As soon as we cleared the threshold, the doors snapped shut abruptly, closing us in, sealing the darkness that seemed to settle over everything.

I could see, yes. Hardly, but well enough to notice when a pale figure made it's way toward us from one of the glass chairs, it's stance tall and imposing as it bore down on its employees and their collection.

A candle flickered to life when the pale shape reached us, and I saw that it was a man, and a beautiful man, at that. His platinum hair ended well below his shoulders, hanging freely, loose. His face was anything but (free and loose, I mean). His brow furrowed deeply in thought as he scrutinized me, his eyes narrowing to slits as he examined my face. All of the muscles in his body seemed to be coiled, ready to strike at any moment, against whatever, or whoever, was present. I could only hope I was satisfactory enough to be spared.

His eyes slid over my body, from my feet to my face, lingering a moment on my hips, as if assessing their capabilities, and then on my breasts. I hadn't worn a bra since I tried one on in a Muggle mall once. I couldn't afford it, and didn't need it.

But now I wished I'd at least bought _something_ to hold them. They were just _there_ for him to see, and I had to squelch a very strong desire to slap him as hard as I could and run away. I couldn't do that. I couldn't go anywhere. He needed to see me so that I could be sold for the proper price and go to the proper people. That's what I had been told would happen, and I was prepared.

"Turn her," he drawled, his voice deep and commanding.

Should I hate him? Is that what I should do? Should I think of him as devil spawn? Could I? No. He was simply hired to sell me, and I was born to be sold.

…

The next morning, I woke on a pallet on the ground. It was cold, and I only had my single, thin blanket to wrap feebly around my shoulders. In the dim, I could just barely make out at least a dozen other pallets spread out across an extensive room, all of them empty. I was alone.

Anxious, I felt my way along the perimeter of the room, searching frantically for a doorknob. At last, my fingers caught on smooth metal and I pulled open the door attached to it.

Or- tried to. It was locked with a charm, like they were afraid a regular lock would be vulnerable to my lock-picking prowess. I was flattered.

But still trapped. In a strange, dark, _cold_ room.

I could feel I'd slept off most of my bravado from the previous day. In its place, a frozen chunk of dread slid in, sluicing my insides with an unprecedented amount of fear. My stomach clenched and my hands began to shake. I collapsed onto the pallet painfully.

I would be sold today. I thought I'd known what that meant, but I couldn't have predicted the anxious convulsions of existential awareness that shook my body every time I thought of what waited for me beyond that magic-locked door.

I'd seen the kinds of people our kind were sold to. Rich bureaucrats and their wives or Death Eaters at best, like my friend Penelope, who I'd last heard was living with the Thicknesses in Tijuana. Or, for the moderate of luck, there would always be a clerk or two buying at auctions. But for those poor, poor wretches with no looks or skills, the toothless, muddled scum of Diagon Alley with a Sickle to spare would be the best they could hope for.

I tried to calm the frantic, irrational twister of doubt swirling through my thoughts. _I'll be bought by the Diagon Alley bin fisher or something! She can't feed me! I'll have to eat banana peels the rest of my life!_

Then a new thought struck me- _What if NO ONE wants to buy me? Oh, Circe, has that ever happened before? Of course it hasn't, because I'll be the first. They'll have to gag me and throw me in the Thames. Probably. _

I took several deep breaths and reminded myself firmly that I had been brought to Malfoy Manor because I was the kind of Mudblood rich Purebloods liked to buy. I would be bought by someone wealthy and snobbish who would leave me alone to clean his mansion and make his food. Probably.

My shaking slowed until I could feasibly stand. I didn't. I sat restlessly until a masked man came to gather me. I'm sure the quiver in my lip and my wide eyes were nothing new to him and if he saw the tears I wiped furtively off my cheeks he, mercifully, didn't let on.

He led me out of the cellar (that's what I had to suppose it was- it couldn't have been a dungeon- people don't just have _dungeons_) by way of a very steep, spiraling staircase. It was ridiculous, like stairs from a castle or something.

As we wound our way up through the manor, I realized that the stairs I was hiking had to be taller than the house itself. Meaning- I had been very underground. At least twice the height of the house underground. I felt silly for having thought the door would open.

Even if it had, there was no way I'd have made it all the way up to the ground floor undetected.

Every 200 feet of stair or so, the Death Eater leading me nodded to a guard who was standing at attention with his wand brightly lit and pointing at us until we disappeared around the next curve. Yeah. No way was I escaping. I had never really expected to.

…

I fingered the velvet frock gingerly, wondering if they actually expected me to put this on.

The impatient Death Eater at my back prodded me harshly.

Apparently, yes. They did.

I turned my head to glare at the man behind me, but he didn't turn. Instead, he stared right back, stripping me bare with his eyes before I'd even started changing.

The drafty air had by no degree improved from the 'cellar' to the much higher room I had found myself thrust into. A woman had sat on a low stool watching her needles knit with empty eyes. When I stumbled in, she looked up sharply, a toothless smile beginning on her face.

"Finally," she'd rasped, the wrinkles around her mouth and eyes deepening with her grin.

"Been sitting up here fer weeks waiting fer one." She spoke to the Death Eater who'd led me up the stairs to the room. "Been so _bored_."

"Your assistance is appreciated, Ma'am," the man had said, sounding almost uncomfortable.

"Yeah, yeah. If I was so appreciated, I wouldn't be cooped up here, would I? Or at least you'd bring me one more often 'stead of goin to Miss Lavish and Unnecessary upstairs," she said, still smiling.

"Yes, Ma'am."

She grinned at him a while longer, before turning her gaze to me. Her features straightened into hard lines as she inspected every part of me. She felt across my arms, my stomach, and everywhere else I'd rather not mention, assessing and judging.

Eventually, she seemed to finish and, with a flourish, summoned a red velvet dress from her sewing bag under the stool.

Scrutinizing the garment almost as long as she had me, she waved her wand and procured a slight change in the fabric's dimensions, then shoved it into my hands.

"Put it on, Mudblood."

And there I stood, staring at the scant clothing I wouldn't be given privacy of any sort to change into. I moved fast. With my back to the watching pair, I ripped off my ragged shirt and grabbed the hem of the dress. I shoved my arms and head into it, pulled it down over my trousers, and stared, agape, at the barely-past-knickers-level hemline. I stood there a few moments contemplating the temperature outside the manor. The Death Eater, impatient and obviously enjoying himself, urged me crudely on.

"Lezzgo, poofy. We haven't got all day to wait for you to take your bloody trousers off."

I took my last dignified breath, and pulled my trousers over my hips, letting them drop to the cold, stone floor.

Pulling on and fidgeting with the hem, I was lead onward, which meant, of course, even further upward. But now, I didn't have the comfort of my sleeved shirt, nor the rough warmth of my old trousers. I had my shoes and something skimpy that covered my boobs.

When the Death Eater stopped me before a large, grained wooden door near the top of the final curved staircase, I was winded and uncomfortable. The Death Eater had opted to climb behind me and stare obviously at whatever parts of me that peeked out under the skirt.

Pushing past me, he silently unlocked the door with a flick of his wand, and led me out. Well, not really _out _out, like I had hoped- just out of the stairs part, and into a different cold, dark room. I couldn't see much, just the man in front of me and maybe a dirty window to my right, but what I could hear made me shiver and tense.

It sounded like there were maybe twenty girls in there with me, all sobbing. In the small space, their cries and whimpers bounced around the walls, reverberating eerily.

The Death Eater whispered a spell and the tip of his wand lit painfully. Light stretched across a giant, huddled mass of girls, all scantly clad in dresses similar to mine. A lot of their arms were around each other. No one looked up at us. They just cried.

Many of the girls I saw that day, I recognized. Eloise Midgen sat nearest the door, the tips of her blonde hair wet with tears, her hands over he eyes. Hannah Abbott was hunched underneath the window, her hands flat on the ground, her eyes shut tight, trying to force back the shudders that wracked her upper body. Her dress was shorter than mine.

The hulking man in front of me reached back and pushed me further into the room, before stomping away. The door closed behind him with a solid clunk, trapping the darkness in with us.

It was very cold in that room. I don't exactly know how, as it was almost summer outside, but cold it was, and so was I.

I sat and scooted closer to where I thought the girls might be, trying to absorb some of the heat they shared. It worked very little.

"You can wait with me, if you like," a musical voice called through the darkness. My ears perked and I started at the sudden address.

"Hello?" I whispered, afraid of disturbing the girls behind me.

"It's alright, I just thought you might be cold," the voice said gently. "I don't think I bite."

"Oh, yes. I am." I made my way to where I thought the voice had come, and stopped at a hand on my leg.

A warm body slid next to mine. "Hello."

I shivered. "Hi."

Her warmth radiated through me, heating my exposed limbs. Her arm was very soft, but dotted with gooseflesh, like mine. Her hair tickled the top of my arm. Slowly, I became more comfortable, and it occurred to me to wonder to whom it was owed.

Over the incessant whimpers and sniffles of the other girls, I said, "Who are you?" Immediately, I knew I could have done that more delicately.

I tried again. "I'm Granger. Hermione."

"I'm Luna Lovegood," she answered. "It is very nice to meet you, Hermione."

I laughed. "Especially under these circumstances."

"Right. Misery needs company," she said seriously. Though I couldn't see her face, and all I could see of her hair was a vaguely long, pale shape, I imagined she was staring up at the ceiling and smiling as she spoke to me. She already seemed the type.

"What you said earlier- what are we waiting for?" I asked. I had an idea, but I didn't want to be right.

"To be sold, I think. The Death Eaters are never very prompt," she sounded unconcerned.

"How long d'you think they'll drag this out?" I asked, worried that we'd spend days in that dark, weepy room. "How long have you been here?"

I felt her shrug her shoulders. "I'm not sure. Must be half a day."

"Do you know how long they've been here?" I asked of the other girls.

"No," Luna answered. "They were here when I arrived."

We sat in silence for what felt like hours but might've only been minutes.

Sold. It didn't sit well with me. It was what I'd known I would inherit, that word, but something about it sent a shock of defiance through me. All of us, the lacrimonious girls, Luna, and I would be dragged out of this room to stand close to naked in front of hard, unfeeling eyes. They would judge us, and take us if they wanted. Even knowing that that was the way it was, and that was the way it had always been, something in me twinged.

_This just… isn't right. What makes me different from those who would buy me?_ It was a question I'd often found myself considering, a dangerous question to any self-respecting wizard or Mudblood nowadays. The answer was, simply, Him. He said that those without magic were lesser, and what he said transcended law. There were those that didn't agree with him; that, He would never be able to help, but those who disagreed would never do anything. He was all. He was insurmountable. Monstrous. Cruel. He battled down enemies like a Muggle bulldozer crushes obstacles. With brute force and blunt violence.

The world was his. And so were we.

"What color is your dress?" Luna asked me suddenly, breaking through my reverie.

"Excuse me?"

"Your dress. Mine is yellow. The woman said it looked good with my hair."

"Erm, red. But I don't think she really cared about my hair," I told her, remembering the old woman's harsh movements and martinet eyes.

"Where do you live?"

"I don't know."

"Before, I mean."

"Oh," I muttered, chewing my lip. "My mom had a place she bought when my Dad died in the War. One window, four walls, a door- it was really cozy, actually, in the spring, when it was done being cold, but before it got too hot." I could feel tears prickling in my throat, but I swallowed them down.

"I lived there alone after she died. Survived."

She sighed and squeezed my arm.

"Daddy's probably going crazy, actually," she said lightly. "I know it's probably not good to wish, but I think he might just try to set me free. He's crazy enough. When I left, he looked about ready to attack the man that brought me here. It wasn't funny, but I almost laughed. You know?"

I did.

We talked about our friends then. I told her about Neville and the Weasleys and she told me colorful stories about her friend Dean and a pair of twins called the Patils. Our voices echoed through the small room, loud and diverting.

I had just finished describing to Luna the Death Eaters who had brought me there, when a detected a whisper from behind the door that sounded like "_Sonorus."_

Then there was a boom of noise that had everyone clapping their hands over their ears. It took me a moment to distinguish the noise as a voice, and then I realized it was speaking.

"Mudbloods. Death Eaters will be in to collect you presently. I demand order and obedience."

Sure enough, seconds later the air around us shifted and popped as men Apparated into the room all around us. Some girls shrieked, and I couldn't help but let out a low whimper.

This was the end of the prelude- now onto the show.

**A/N: Even if this story isn't very good, I will always at least try to make **_**sense**_**. Please tell me if, at any time while I'm uploading this, it seems to get ridiculous, or laughably OOC, or something. I would appreciate that.**


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